Waltz
by VickyVicarious
Summary: Princess Emma likes to sneak away and hide in the palace gardens during balls. Tonight, for the first time, someone follows her out there - a certain Lieutenant Jones. [Lieutenant Duckling AU, very fluffy.]


I combined two prompts when writing this. An anonymous request for: "Lieutenant Jones and Princess Emma dancing alone in the castle gardens", and thatwas-asyouwish's prompt: "Killian takes Emma dancing… where there's no music. #yes I am completely going the notebook on this #but it can be funny and goofy and only used as a guideline #I just need him twirling her and laughing #because of reasons"

It gets pretty fluffy in here, folks.

* * *

Emma took a deep breath as she glanced behind her, before carefully climbing over the wall of the low balcony and hopping down to the grounds below. The balcony was mostly decorative so it wasn't much of a drop, two or three feet at most, and she made the landing with only a slight wobble. Quite the accomplishment if she did say so herself, considering she was wearing a pair of ridiculous heels. She would have taken them off altogether, but that would have been a little more noticeable than her 'getting some air' excuse had been - and anyway, her dress tonight was long enough that if she didn't wear heeled shoes, it would drag in the dirt and thus make it obvious where she had spent most of the ball. It was both white and lacy, which was already bad enough.

(Snow had picked it out.)

(Of course.)

Still, Emma had her routine down flat by now - she'd schmooze for the first hour or so, smile and greet everyone, dance a couple dances, promise a couple more… And then once the wine had really started circulating, she'd wander off to 'get some fresh air', and spend the rest of the night strolling through the palace gardens on her own. As long as she remembered to go back for the last forty minutes or so, no one seemed to be the wiser - they always just assumed the princess was busy with someone else, and luckily the King and Queen weren't shy about inviting _everyone_ to their balls… there were always enough people for Emma to slip away into the crowd.

It wasn't that she _hated_ the balls, really. She just… Emma wasn't exactly a typical princess, she supposed, and although that was rather a point of pride for her, it meant that she much preferred to slip on peasant clothing and go drinking at the local pub, than to gossip about the latest fashions or who was wedding whom. She could be polite, certainly, but it was difficult to maintain over the course of an evening - Emma was rather blunt by nature, much like her father, and had more than once unintentionally offended some visiting dignitary when she refused to play the flattery game.

She liked most of the people currently inside the ballroom, she really did, but… she much preferred it out _here_, under the vast starry sky. No boisterous music or bustling crowd, the air pleasantly cool against her bare arms as she wandered deeper into the gardens until she reached the center courtyard. The air smelled sweet, of freshly-grown flowers and trees almost ready to bear fruit, and Emma smiled, closing her eyes and breathing it in. She spread her arms and twirled, grinning -

-and then stumbled to a halt with a small exclamation of surprise, eyes snapping wide open, when a warm hand caught hers and spun her right into someone's arms.

"What the hell?" Emma snapped, too startled to even pull away. She blinked rapidly as she took in the familiar uniform in front of her - Navy then - and dragged her eyes up to see a - _well_. Well, that was an incredibly handsome man. Holding her close and smiling at her.

"Princess," he said with a grin (and an _accent_, now that was just not fair), and pulled back enough to bow slightly. "I believe you promised me this dance."

Emma only stared dumbly for a few seconds longer before she ripped free of his grip. No matter how blue this man's eyes were (god, they were so bright even in the dim light of the moon) - she hated entitled men who thought a smile and cheap line would get them anywhere. Almost as much as she hated overly confident men who interrupted what was _clearly _her alone time.

"I think you're mistaken," she glanced down at the decorations on his uniform, "Lieutenant. I've promised you _nothing_. Now, if you would kindly go back inside, I'm sure you can find some other lady willing to dance with you. It may have escaped your notice, but I came out here for _solitude - _you're kind of interfering."

She waved at him dismissively and turned away, seething inwardly. How dare he. Did he really think that was attractive, snatching her up in an unaware moment (all right, it was, but only because _he _was attractive - his actions weren't appealing in the least)? He was lucky he hadn't gotten an elbow to the nose and knee to the gut as soon as he'd grabbed her. He was lucky she was choosing to just walk away instead of yell at him. He was lucky she didn't report him to someone! He was - grabbing her arm, _again_, though he let go instantly and raised his hands in surrender as soon as she spun to glare at him.

"Wait, lass!" He paused, mouth open, then winced violently: "_Milady_, I mean, wait, please. You - you _did_ promise me this dance, earlier tonight, you don't - don't you remember?"

Emma was all set to give him a piece of her mind, but… his voice was lacking all of its earlier smooth confidence. He seemed oddly earnest all of a sudden, contrite and a little hurt. And, well, Emma _did _have a tendency to promise dances to anyone who so much as said her name in the first half-hour of a ball; it was the only sure way to get rid of them quickly, to just agree and wander off, and she could always pretend to have been looking for them later. It had never been a problem before.

No one had ever _followed her_ out here before - which was, honestly, the reason she'd been angry to begin with, but if she had actually promised to dance with this guy and he'd seen her jump off a balcony rather than sway around with him for ten minutes, well. Maybe he wasn't exactly the only one in the wrong, here.

Emma sighed. "No, I don't remember you at all."

"Oh." He sighed, looking far more disappointed than he had any right to be. His voice went low and embarrassed and - great, now she was feeling _bad_ for him. "I thought… Sorry, Princess, I'll leave you alone then."

With another short bow, he made as if to leave. This time, it was Emma who caught _his_ sleeve.

"I'm really sorry," she said again. "I just don't like these parties, I'll tell anyone anything to get them to leave me alone, it's not - it's not personal."

He smiled awkwardly, but said nothing.

"What's your name?" Emma asked. "I haven't ever seen you before… have I?"

He cleared his throat. "No. I've seen you before, but from a distance. I. My name is Killian Jones. Tonight is the first time I - the first time we've met."

Emma smiled at him guiltily. "Some first meeting. Sorry. I _would_ dance with you, honestly - you seem like a nice guy - but." She shrugged. "I really don't wanna go back inside until I have to. Maybe next time?"

He glanced at the castle - the huge windows lit up, the silhouettes of dancing couples visible even from here, though they were too far away to hear the music. When he turned back to Emma, it was with a determined set to his jaw, a glint in his eyes.

"Why not now?" he asked, raising an eyebrow challengingly.

Emma frowned. "I just told you, I don't want to -"

"Not inside. Here." Killian grinned mischievously. "Now."

Taken aback, Emma snorted. His smile grew wider at the sound. "There's no music."

"We'll waltz," he suggested. "It's so easy a dance we won't need music."

"I - what the hell," Emma gave up, and finally grinned back. Now that she'd let go of her anger, she couldn't really deny that she liked this man. He was a strange mix of confident and tentative, dashing and awkward, in a way that she couldn't help but feel affected by. Not to mention, of course, his unreasonably attractive face and voice and just everything in general, but she was _trying_ to ignore that.

He held out his arms, and she stepped forward into them with a soft huff of laughter. They began to sway together, taking small steps, hardly moving at all. Emma glanced up at him after a moment, but his eyes were fixed on hers and he was too close and had this little awed _grin_ - she had to look away, a blush heating her cheeks.

She heard him chuckle, and whipped her head up to glare at him. But before she could say anything - he suddenly twirled her away from him, with such force that Emma nearly stumbled. Years of lessons took over and she managed to catch herself against his arm before losing her balance.

She rolled her eyes as she spun back, but when he barely held her for a moment before smirking and spinning her right back out again, she couldn't help it: she started to laugh.

After that, it was strangely easy - they danced wildly, like fools, laughing and exchanging disparaging little comments about each others' form, spinning until they felt dizzy, stepping apart, then together - he taught her a _despicably_ vulgar sea shanty, she sang him a drinking song she'd learned from the dwarves, and they waltzed to both. He dipped her so low that he almost dropped her, then struggled to lift her back up as she laughed and made the task even more difficult. He held her close and took slow, slow steps, breathing steady and relaxed but for the moment it hitched when she rested her head on his shoulder with a small sigh.

Eventually, Emma realized that they weren't even dancing anymore - hardly swaying, in fact, just holding each other close and barely moving, his arms locked around her waist. She could feel one of his thumbs gently brushing back and forth across her lower back, scraping warmly against the fabric of her gown. Could feel his breath against her hair, his body pressed close against her own, a slow tingle spreading through her skin, a dizzy, dream-like sensation.

Slowly, she pulled back to look at him. His eyes were closed, and it took him a moment to open them. When he did, it was with a brilliant smile, content and happy and (she thought, she hoped) more than a little smitten.

Emma smiled back, heart thumping hard.

For a moment, they just stood there, smiling, arms wrapped around each other.

Ever so slowly, Killian's head dipped down toward hers.

Then Emma happened to glance behind him towards the small clock-tower before the entrance to the gardens. She stiffened instantly, eyes going wide.

"Oh _no_," she gasped, just before his lips touched her own. "I've got to go. I've got to go _right now_."

She yanked herself out of his arms and took a step back without a thought for how he might take it, too panicked by the sudden realization that she was going to miss the final dance. She _couldn't_ miss the final dance, she always saved that one for her father, if he realized she'd left in the middle of the ball - to dance alone in the gardens with a _man_, no less - it couldn't happen. It would mean the end of all garden escapes, it would mean the end of _this._

"Yes… of course." Killian reached up and scratched at the back of his head awkwardly, glancing away. Emma, already poised to flee, drew in a sharp breath as she realized what he had been about to do.

He didn't seem to notice, still looking awkwardly down at the ground. "I, uh, thank you for the dance, Princess, it was - "

She reached out and put a hand on his cheek. His head jerked up; his eyes went wide, _so blue_; he took a sharp breath, like somehow _she_ was the alluring one here.

Emma laughed, and leaned forward to press a soft kiss to the corner of his lips. Or it was meant to be - but he turned into it, and kissed her back, and her eyes dropped shut, her heart thudding faster, his lips moving against hers so gentle and slow, the little noise he made when she slid her other hand up his chest to rest on his shoulder, the feel of his hands landing on her waist, barely touching, her own content sigh.

"Please," she whispered against his lips, completely unaware of how she had gotten here, had gone from just wanting to be alone and furious at this man who interrupted her, to just wanting to be alone _with him_, never to stop touching him, never to stop dancing with him though her feet were already aching, wanting to kiss him again - "call me Emma."

"_Emma_," he breathed as she stepped back, voice low and wistful and _so damn happy_ that she had to smile, had to grin back at him. "I would love to dance with you again."

"There is to be another ball in three weeks," Emma said, already aching at the thought of waiting so long to see him again, _touch_ him again, talk and laugh and sing terribly inappropriate ditties with him again, just to match his smile with her own. "But I visit the gardens far more frequently - almost every day."

"I'm quite fond of flowers, myself," he confessed, then gestured at a nearby cherry tree. "And… pears."

Emma bit her lip to hold back the laugh. "Well then you must come sample them. Until then, Lieutenant Jones."

"Until then, Princess Emma."

And with a final curtsy, Emma lifted her skirts and fled back towards the ballroom, hoping she wouldn't be too late for the final dance with the King. Hoping the rush of cool air against her cheeks as she ran might somehow cool her down, might soothe the fire already burning inside of her at the thought of seeing him again.

(She made it to the dance.)

(He watched from a spot against the wall, smiling; she burned brighter, ever brighter.)


End file.
